


Kashan

by plotweaver



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romulans, Torture, hand whipping, romulans being assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plotweaver/pseuds/plotweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Romulans are close relatives of Vulcans, they have a better knowledge of the Vulcan anatomy than most. Unfortunately for Spock, this means they know just where to hit him so it hurts the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kashan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigersmt334](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersmt334/gifts).



> This was shamelessly written in response to [t334's](%E2%80%9Dt334.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) wish for more fan works about Spock's sensitive hands being taken advantage of. Blame her and her amazing art for it.

" _Kashan_ n. - a perception associated with stimulation of a sense organ or with a specific body condition" - Vulcan Language Dictionary

 

The whip cracks again as it is brought down on Spock’s hands. If he concentrates hard enough, he can separate the sensations of sound and pain. Pain can be compartmentalized. It can be ignored. He tells himself this as the whip is brought down on his bound hands again and again.

“Vulcan scum,” the Romulan holding the whip says. “Filthy telepath.”

The Romulan is not aesthetically pleasing. His brow ridge is exceptionally large, and his eyes are too close together. Spock redirects his gaze back to the wall opposite of him. It does not matter what the Romulan looks like. It only matters that he knows where to whip Spock to split the skin open. Spock desperately focuses on the wall, knowing that if he sees the wounds it will be harder to ignore the pain.

But he sees bright green at the edge of his vision. He can feel the tickle of the blood flowing freely from his hands. The whip falls yet again.

Every ounce of his energy is channeled into stoicism. Despite the ache of his heart in his side, Spock freezes his expression into his well-crafted mask of indifference. He holds himself in perfect posture, never flinching. Yet, when the Romulan pauses to insult him once more, he feels himself tremble.

He presses his hands closer and tenses his muscles tighter, but the uncontrollable, minute shake remains. He can only hope, beyond logic, that the Romulan doesn’t notice.

But the Romulan is skilled in torture. He knows where the nerve clusters are located. He knows how to manipulate the whip to hit them and how much time to take between each onslaught so that the nerves don’t go numb with pain. Every hit feels fresh. 

After a particularly hard lash, the Romulan grabs at the binding around Spock’s wrists and yanks his mangled hands forward for inspection.

“I think we’ve prettied you up enough for your captain,” he sneers. Spock tries to find the meaning in his words, but it is too hard to focus through the haze of agony. Spock is roughly pulled to his feet, and it is a moment before he can trust his knees to fully support him. He stumbles forward when prodded and, slowly, clumsily, he makes his way out of the torture room and into the corridor beyond.

If he were fully functional, Spock would memorize every hallway in the compound. Every slight draft of air on his hands, however, sends his brain into a tailspin. It is not until Spock hears the cry of a familiar voice that he is able to focus. 

“Spock!” Jim says. His captain is still in the cell that they shared when they first were captured. Jim presses himself against the bars. He does not appear to be harmed, and for that Spock is grateful.

“What did you do to him?” Jim rattles the bars. His command gold shirt is ripped at the neck, he is covered in dirt, and the angle of his angry brow nearly obscures his bright eyes, but he is still the picture of righteous fury, and, for a moment, Spock cares of nothing except the sight of Jim Kirk angry at the world.

Then the Romulan shoves him into the cell, and Spock pitches forward onto his knees. The door to the cell clangs shut behind him, and the captain rushes forward. 

“Spock, are you okay? What the hell did they do to your hands?”

Everything hurts so much. The pain has radiated up his arms. For a brief moment, Spock wants to give up and relax into the agony. If he let the pervasiveness of the torment consume his mind, he wouldn’t need to worry about anything else.

But the captain is here and distressed and Spock wants to stroke his cheek until he doesn’t look so concerned anymore, but that would get blood on the captain and marr his cheek and shirt and isn’t that an illogical thought because Jim would look radiant no matter what happened to him, and oh, the ground is coming up on him so fast…

Steady hands catch Spock before he falls face-first onto the cell’s hard floor. He can barely keep his eyes open, can barely lift his head, and all he can see is gold. The gold of Jim’s shirt, the gold of his hair. 

“I’ll end him, Spock. I swear,” Jim says. He has not heard that shake in Jim’s voice since Khan. It chills Spock, makes him forget his earlier apprehensions and reach for Jim.

His fingers gracelessly brush Jim’s jaw. Pangs of emotion stutter up Spock’s arm and into his brain. He feels anger, disgust, concern, and something so deep, too deep to think on. It’s overwhelming. His damaged hands cannot control the flow of feelings, and Spock’s mind, already on the edge of consciousness, whirls into delirium.

Panic floods Spock. His hands are broken beyond the point of it affecting his telepathy. This is the true torture of the Romulans. For now, while the wounds are open, the brushing of another mind against his is painful, sickening, and disorienting. But if his hands were to scab or scar over, he might never feel another mind again. He would never feel Jim’s mind again. The thought is enough for his body to begin the illogical process of hyperventilation.

An anchoring grip encloses his wrist and gently moves his hand from Jim’s face. Spock is vaguely aware of a feeble whine coming from his own mouth.

“Shh, Spock,” Jim says. Spock’s equilibrium is so compromised that the only indication he has of being made to lay supine is the hard floor against his back. He knows the second Jim moves away, however, because his mind howls in protest. Too soon after the uncontrolled brush of Jim’s thoughts with his, Spock’s greedy mind couldn’t bear any degree of separation. 

Without the wild stimulation of Jim’s mind, colorless pinpricks begin to spot in Spock’s vision. He’s losing consciousness, how curious. His injuries must be worse than he initially thought.

“Hey. Hey!” A cool hand curves around Spock’s face. Were he in control of himself, Spock would not have leaned into Jim’s touch, but he isn’t in control and he does nuzzle into Jim’s hand. Spock thinks he feels Jim’s thumb offer a quick caress, but the hand is taken away too quickly to tell.

Soft material is pressed onto Spock’s hands and the pain is so acute that he cannot help the howl that tears from his lips. 

“Sorry, Spock,” Jim says. “I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to stop the bleeding.” He wraps the material tighter. “Shit, this is bad. Shit!”

Spock hisses as the material comes in contact with a particularly deep cut. His eyes fly open before quickly fluttering shut, just enough time to register that Jim is using his command golds to stay the bleeding. Blood-soaked uniforms have to be a violation of the Starfleet Dress Code, and Spock moves to tell Jim this.

“Thought I told you to shut up,” Jim says, but it is a gentle tone. “Crazy escape plans are my speciality, remember?”

“Yes, Jim,” is all that Spock can manage before he passes out.

-

Fury taints the air. It burns as it enters Spock’s open wounds. He does not open his eyes, does not move, but he can sense Jim pressed up against the door of the cell.

“You’ve killed him!” Jim says. His voice breaks. Spock wants nothing more than to move, to tell Jim he is alive, to banish that hurt from his voice. 

“We did no such thing,” a voice on the other side of the bars says. 

“Look at him,” Jim says. “He hasn’t so much as breathed in over an hour. You think I’m going to comply after sitting with his body for a few more hours? I can’t even look at him without knowing that I will destroy every last one of you.”

“Shut up,” the voice snaps. “And back up. All the way to that wall.”

Spock hears the bars screech and footsteps approach him. The air shifts, and unfamiliar curiosity brushes across his hands. The overload of emotions in the air and his new sensitivity to it overwhelm Spock. He winces.

“Wait-”

Something collides with the figure next to Spock, sending him to the floor. There is a scramble, and something - a shoe, perhaps? - presses down hard on Spock’s hand.

His eyes fly open as he screams.

He sees Jim wrestling a Romulan to the ground. The Romulan begins yelling obscenities. Down the hall, footsteps and shouts signal the imminent arrival of more Romulan guards.

Jim lets loose a violent punch that renders the Romulan unconscious and immediately starts to pilfer his pockets.

“Thank God,” Jim says as he pulls a communicator from the Romulan. He flips it open. “Enterprise? This is Captain Kirk.”

The voices from the hallway grow louder. Jim frantically adjusts the communicator.

“Captain?” Sulu’s voice is quiet. The signal is weak.

Shadows dance on the walls outside of the cell. A few guards come into sight, frozen in shock at the sight before them. 

“Two to beam up,” he hears Jim roar. “Now!”

He feels fuzzy as light surrounds him. Too much, too bright. He wants to lift his hands to shield his eyes, but they are so heavy. The light finally abates, but not much. 

“Get Bones in here, now!” Jim is yelling. Jim is upset. That won’t do. Spock tries to tell him that he’s fine, tries to say his name, but his mouth is moving too slowly to form the words. Jim shushes him again.

“Bones will be here soon,” he tells Spock. “You gotta hang on until then. You’ve gotta-”

But the black creeping in at the edges of Spock’s vision is too strong. It’s oppressive and dark and… scary. Spock is scared. This darkness could have no end. It could stretch on forever. An eternity without Jim’s face.

Spock fights the urge to slip under. He desperately stays awake, battling each second for the privilege of being with Jim. 

There’s a loud noise, an angry voice, and suddenly Spock is lifted up, and Jim’s face is gone. And Spock is helpless as unconsciousness presses down on his eyes. 

-

The first thing Spock feels is his hands. 

Cold air ghosts over his knuckles. No pain. That is promising. He appears to be holding on to something in his left hand, however. 

Slowly, awareness spreads to the rest of his body. Besides stiffness in his limbs, he does not believe himself to be injured. Soft beeps of monitoring equipment reach his ears, and the fingers of his unoccupied hand rest on new sheets. Med bay. He indulges in a deep, calming breath before opening his eyes.

The lights are at a lower setting, and Spock is grateful. The sensory overload that he had experienced at the hands of the Romulans was still fresh in his mind, and he had no doubt that bright lights would have caused quite a headache. He assesses himself and finds he has been changed into the standard med bay gown. 

And there is Jim. 

The captain is in a chair by Spock’s bed. He’s slumped forward, his head resting on the bed near Spock’s thigh. He does not even appear to have changed clothes since they have been rescued.

Spock shifts, intending to sit up, but his stirring causes Jim’s head to snap up. 

“Spock?” Something squeezes his hand, and Spock finally realizes that it is Jim he is holding on to. Or rather, Jim who is holding on to him. “How do you feel?”

“It appears that my injuries have disappeared,” Spock says.

“Not exactly answering the question.”

“What happened while I was unconscious?”

“Gambled a bit. Saw that you were out and probably not waking up for a while. I made the guard think they killed you when they… you know…” Jim squeezes his hand again. Spock suddenly feels very warm. Jim’s thumb rubs circles on the back of Spock’s hand. This cannot be appropriate, even for humans. He must tell the captain to stop. And he will. Eventually.

“Why?” Jim asks. Spock looks up from their hands and into Jim’s eyes. “Why would they go after your hands like that? I mean, Bones said it nearly killed you. A few more minutes without the dermal regenerator and you would’ve been…” Jim trails off again before shaking his head. Through their linked hands, Spock can sense the sickening dread Jim pushes away. Now that his hands are healed, Spock can sense Jim’s emotions easily. He does not delve deep - he would never invade Jim’s privacy that way - but he catches glimpses of emotions at the very surface, and he enjoys the brushes of Jim’s mind against his own.

“Vulcan hands are extremely sensitive,” Spock says. Jim’s thumb immediately ceases its movement, and Spock regrets his words. “They are a conduit for our telepathy and possess several nerve clusters. Damaging them can lead to intense pain and even death. Left untreated, the hands will scar, and telepathy involving the hands, such as mind melds, can become impossible.”

Jim lets go of Spock’s hand. “I'm sorry. I had no idea it was like that.”

Spock does not let Jim’s hand stray too far before taking it back into his own.

“The hands that experience pain can also experience pleasure,” Spock says. Jim smiles.

“You're not reading my mind right now, are you?” Spock’s mind immediately thinks of several defenses before he sees that Jim is merely being playful.

“No. My hands are healed so my mental control is in effect. I would never enter your mind unwanted, Jim.”

“I know.”

Spock nods and leans back into the bed, content with the silence that has settled over them. Jim resumes stroking Spock’s hand. Jim’s caress is too soft to be sexual, and it his fingers have yet to hit any particularly sensitive nerve clusters, but Spock derives pleasure from the sensation regardless. He refrains from telling Jim the effect his ministrations have upon him. 

But Jim is a smart man. He can find the meaning in Spock’s subtlety.

“Intense pain, you said.”

Spock nods.

“Pleasure too, you said.”

Spock raises his eyebrows and begins to sit up once more. Jim is purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“Could the pleasure also be intense?”

Spock does not move. Jim looks up. His bright eyes on him finally compel Spock to respond.

“Yes.”

Jim takes a moment with this information hanging in the air between them, and then slowly, carefully, lifts Spock's hand to his mouth for the softest of kisses.

Spock's heart stutters in his side. Jim lowers their hands back to the bed and smiles. 

The wondrous pleasure coursing through his hands to the rest of his body is more than enough to banish the thought and memory of the pain of before.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that ending was satisfying enough! My happiness is directly linked with the amount of comments I receive, so do with that information what you will ;-)
> 
> And go visit [t334](%E2%80%9Dt334.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) because her work is awesome!


End file.
